Blood Weald
by Pentangle-linnon
Summary: Complete. Winner 2nd place Teitho contest: Scary theme. Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf. Does anyone ever have a good time in Mirkwood?
1. It is Evil

Title: Blood Weald

Second Place Winner for the Teitho "Boo!" contest (scary theme)

Author: Pentangle

Pre-Fellowship; Young Ranger, Legolas, Gandalf

Warning: mild language

A/N : Legolas has no siblings. He and Aragorn have been friends for many years. They often have adventures (er, very important missions) together.

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Ch. 1 "It is Evil"

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Their mission was not to battle the forces of evil—just survey them. The two had slipped through the territory as unobtrusively as they could but small skirmishes were inevitable. Aragorn had been wounded by a spider.

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"Legolas, I need to stop. Please. There is something wrong." The ranger's voice was tight as he fought waves of pain.

The elf who rode before him did not stop scanning their surroundings as he answered, his voice lowered. "I know. I know, Aragorn. We will stop soon. But not here. This was a place of ill repute even before Dol Guldur was built."

Instead of a response, the elf heard a soft susurration of leather against leather followed by a heavy thud. He jumped from his mount and ran to the man who now lay on the ground.

"Stubborn human," he chided softly, "You must always have your way."

The shock of the fall had knocked the breath from the ranger and his eyes were tightly shut with the pain of the impact, but his lips twitched and he nodded.

The elf looked about him, searching for a place to rest and tend his friend. He should not have been apprehensive. He should have been at ease, for everywhere he looked was green. Indeed, the man had fallen on thick green leaves that carpeted the ground. They were among huge, ancient trees that not only were bright with the leaves of high summer, but had large expanses of swagging vines covering them like huge, dense curtains. It was like being in a cathedral of green, with the only other color a small spot of blue sky high above them.

They were in southern Mirkwood, far to the east of Dol Guldur and below the bight, making for the palace after a scouting mission. They were in an area no one had willingly traversed for longer than Thranduil had been king. Even Orcs shunned the place. After Aragorn was wounded, Legolas had decided to take the chancy route since they would have the assurance of no attacks there.

Legolas pulled Aragorn's arm around his shoulder and helped him to the base of a tree that was at least 12 feet in diameter. The bright green leaves even covered the venerable trunk like a dense vertical carpet. He set Aragorn down with his back against the tree and his legs stretched out before him. Legolas untied the leather cords that held the torn leggings closed and exposed the thigh. He removed the bandages and shook his head. The man demanded, "What is it? It must be infected from the way it throbs."

"It is. Not only that, but there must be remnants from the spider's leg that cut you in there. See the green ichor oozing from that side?"

"No, thank you. You know I prefer not to look at my own wounds. Yuck."

"The healer will not heal himself?"

"Not if he can avoid it."

"Nevertheless, you know what must be done. First the stitches need to be removed and the edges debrided. Then I need to remove the spider oddments that have remained. Then clean and stitch again."

"A delightful program. Wait a minute—you were the one that cared for it in the first place! What do you mean 'spider oddments'!"

"I was working under the constraint of trying to not be eaten. I apologize that you are not now swinging from a tree limb, paralyzed and swollen."

"Ah. I take your point. You may as well begin. At least there are plenty of vines for me to hold onto while you torture me."

Legolas darted a glance at the tree but said nothing. After sterilizing his knife with miruvor, he looked up at the ranger. "Fast or slow? If I go slowly I will do a better job; not take away as much Aragorn."

"Fast." The ranger grabbed one of a multitude of vine stems in each hand.

"Hold then, son of Elrond." The elf leaned one knee hard on the ranger's. Legolas paused with the knife poised over the wound. There was nothing for it; it had to be done but he was loath to cause his friend such pain. He glanced up again into Aragorn's tense face. The ranger understood his feelings and nodded, tightening his hands on the vines. "Go on; do it."

The blade flashed, slicing through all the stitches and taking a thin slice of flesh from one side. Aragorn cried out but muted it deep in his throat. The elf repeated the action for the other side of the wound and watched as crimson welled forth. He looked at Aragorn who was panting and sweating, his knuckles white as he strangled the vines.

"I will wait a little to let the blood clean what it will."

Legolas went to his saddle and returned with a waterskin and a small square of linen. He poured a little water on the cloth and dabbed at the ranger's face gently. He held the spout of the skin to Aragorn's mouth and patiently waited while the man sipped between ragged breaths.

At last the pain receded enough that the ranger's hands dropped from the vines to lie limply in his lap. The ranger looked into blue eyes darkened with concern. The elf said softly, "I am sorry, mellon nin, to cause you such hurt. I am sorry I did not treat the wound properly."

The man shook his head. "I should not have said what I did. You are never careless. And thank you for my life, since I was so churlish that I did not thank you at the time. We rangers have an aversion to being aged like beef and then having our juices sucked away."

While they spoke and recovered—Aragorn from the pain and Legolas from having caused it—blood had been flowing steadily from the man's thigh to the ground. Not so fast as to endanger him, but in steady snaking streams, falling to the green leaves alongside his leg—for the vines even covered the ground. As the crimson fell upon them, the drops did not stick but moved smoothly down to another leaf, then another, until they found their way to the ground. A little breeze must have sprung up, for all around the two travelers there arose a very soft rustling.

As they waited for the blood to flush some of the debris from the wound and for Aragorn to regain strength for the next part of the ordeal, Legolas looked about him tensely. It could even be said he looked frightened. This surprised the young man greatly.

"What is it, Legolas? Are there spiders here, too?"

"Nay, there are no spiders. Nor Orcs. Nor wild men. Nor deer, nor squirrels, nor birds, nor badgers, nor anything but carrion flies and such like."

"Nothing! What about the trees?"

"Look around you. Most are dead. The one you sit against is dead. The rest mourn or are so sunk in despair they have no thoughts at all."

"Dead! But the leaves –"

" Look up." He pointed and the ranger followed with his eyes. Straight up, high against the sky, he could see stark white tips of branches sticking up like clawing hands through the bright green that covered all the branches below. Now that he looked around carefully, he saw that every leaf, regardless of the type of tree it grew on, was the same shape and color. They were large with three lobes and were a bright, almost too bright, green.

Legolas explained, "All belong to one vine. It grows for miles here. My kin abhor this place. The trees on the edges of this aberration fear the vine. They groan with terror as it approaches them. In the past, when darkness had not yet come to the Greenwood, we kept the vine within bounds by burning the new growth each year. We could not beat it further back, though, no matter how we tried. Now it encroaches farther every year. Some say it grows a foot a day. Soon it will reach the narrows. We have no elves to spare, nor time, to try to fight it now."

Aragorn was astounded. "How can one root support such growth? How is it possible?"

"It is not one root. Everywhere the vine touches earth it sends down more roots. It strangles all above and strangles all below. It is evil."

Aragorn leaned forward to pull away from the leaves on the tree trunk. He looked apprehensively to Legolas and whispered, "Are we in danger? Can it harm us?"

"I do not believe so. I have traveled through here before when hard pressed by Orcs. I wasted no time, though, and neither should we. Are you ready to continue?"

"Yes. Finish it." The ranger braced himself again.

Legolas bent over the wound and probed with deft, merciless fingers until he found and removed what he knew must be there. The blood flowed faster and slipped quickly leaf to leaf, as though being handed along to the ground eagerly.

The wound was finally cleaned, sutured, and dressed. Legolas helped his friend to mount and watched to see that he was able to stay upright on his own. As they departed, the elf rode closely beside Aragorn to help him if he swayed, but the cleansed wound was feeling better in spite of its rough treatment. Aragorn now wanted to be away as quickly as the elf did, and they made good time.

As the ranger and elf left, the leaves and stems which had been flattened by them quivered, and began to rise. They slowly returned to their original positions. The leaves that had lain beside and beneath the man shown an even brighter green and their fine veins pulsed, gradually darkening. It was almost as though some darker substance was flowing through them, passing from one to another. The gentle quivering spread with the darkening veins, widening in a circle like the ripples from a stone thrown into a quiet pool. The widening was very slow; it moved in plant time. But after a day the circle was several feet across and all within it seethed and stretched and hungered. Ai, how it hungered!

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A few days of thankfully uneventful traveling brought Aragorn and Legolas back to the palace. They tarried until Aragorn was well enough to return home to Imladris. The ranger, now free of 'spider oddments,' recovered quickly. As the weeks passed, the bleak territory with its facade of vibrant, wholesome life faded from their minds.

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The circle that marked the ever increasing territory of the dark-veined leaves eventually reached the farthest extent of the strangling vine. At once, long tendrils began to move deeper into the untouched area of the forest. They grew at a terrifying pace and the trees that had been in fear before now moaned in horror and despair. The tendrils reached the first trunks and began to twine and wind around them. Even as they busied themselves with sucking life from their first victims, they sent out more tendrils deeper into the forest.

Word of the growing danger spread from tree to tree. The wood rustled with warning and anger. The warning spread to the Ancient Ones who recognized that only one of the Blood could have worked the spell. Disbelief was replaced with fury as the moans of the dying were felt throughout the forest.

End Chapter 1


	2. Prey

**Ch. 2 Prey**

Two friends bid each other farewell at the edge of the forest closest to the Misty Mountains.

"Be careful, Aragorn. I wish you would let me send an escort –"

"That is the twenty-fifth time you have said that today; you average about five times an hour! Stop it! You know that I am much less likely to attract trouble alone." His voice softened a little as he continued, "You have taught me well, mellon nin, as have Glorfindel and all the rest. I will be safe and will send you word that I have arrived. And what of you? Will you fare well until we meet again?"

"I am returning home in my own forest! What should happen?"

Aragorn began ticking off his fingers. "Spiders. Orcs. Nameless shadowy somethings from Dol Guldur. Did I mention spiders?" Smiling, the elf nodded. "Well, they should be counted twice!"

The two gripped arms as warriors do when they embrace in their hearts, but fear to show emotion. Then they turned away, each to his own trail.

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As Legolas entered the forest again, he decided to tickle a trout for his repast in camp that night. He lay on the bank of a stream where the current had undercut a little pool. His hand was in the water: motionless, waiting. A brown trout brushed past his fingers but he wisely did not move. Not just yet. Wait. The fish brushed him again, but before he could snatch it out of the water, the sun flashed on its side as it turned and bit him. He jerked his hand from the water, laughing.

"You have won the field, bold one! It seems you are not the one who will be eaten!" Still laughing, he lay on his back enjoying the summer sunshine.

He did not linger long; duty called him and so he once again took the trail for home. After another hour of unhurried traveling, he heard the chittering and squeaking of a squirrel fight. Several squirrels tore through the branches toward him, leapt across the path, and continued on into the distance. One laggard did not clear the path but used the top of Legolas' head as a stepping stone. As he jumped off the blond hair he scratched the elf on the forehead; a deliberate rake of claw on skin. The prince touched his face and looked with astonishment at the drop of blood on his fingertip.

He rode on for two more hours then dismounted to stretch his legs. His horse trailed behind him as he jogged lightly along. Just ahead was a small log. It was too small to bother clearing it from the trail and Legolas had only to increase his stride to cross it. On the left of the path, a vine drooped down and Legolas should have brushed by easily. But as he rose to clear the log his hand caught in the loop and he was pulled off balance. He fell over the log hitting his ribs hard. He turned over and looked up at the vine. Had it _moved_? Impossible! He reproved himself for blaming his clumsiness on an innocent plant and got to his feet, dusting off hands and leggings.

He decided he had had enough footwork and called to his horse. It did not come to him. He walked toward it and it shied away. "Here now, what has curdled _your_ cream?" he demanded. He put out a hand and again the horse moved away. It backed a little way down the trail, then spun and galloped off. Legolas whistled and called to no avail.

The elf was puzzled about the horse's behavior, but not unduly so. Animals have minds of their own, after all, and elven horses were particularly intelligent. It was not unheard of for a horse to have a rebellious day every so often, though usually not when horse and rider were headed for home!

He began to jog again as he no longer had any desire to linger on the trail. Some time later he heard the flap of wings high above him and looked up to see a raven back-winging to settle on a branch. Another appeared and then another. Oddly, they made no sound. Usually the elf could hear their hoarse calls a mile or more away. He shrugged and ran lightly on. Just before a sudden impact he heard again the sound of wings behind him. Then a raven hit him forcefully on the back of the head. He lurched forward before catching his balance. He felt claws in his hair and raised his arms to fend off another raven that attacked him from above. Still another flew straight toward him from down the trail, his knife-sharp beak aimed for the elf's eyes. He flailed at the birds and pulled his knives. He killed one and the rest flew silently away. Now the elf was no longer complacent about all the odd happenings. Something was very wrong in his forest. He ran faster.

As Legolas went deeper into his home, he became aware of a murmuring from the woods around him. It sounded angry. He let his mind drift so that he could meld with the thoughts of the trees and was astounded when they denied him. They would not speak with him! Had some elf committed some great crime? Cut down one of the Ancient Ones? He needed to get home and speak with his father. There was no one who knew more about the forest than he. Legolas ran.

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He ran.

Darkness fell and still he ran.

Ran though the stitch in his side had become a fiery blade.

Ran though a gash in his arm left shining black splotches on his backtrail.

Ran though his heart labored, banging hard against his chest as though to free itself from its prison of bone.

He tried to slow, to think; he could not escape through blind flight. But still he ran. He could barely stay ahead of them. He no longer ran toward the palace. He had been forced to change direction again and again. The forest, always his friend, his birthright, had become the enemy. The night was full of eyes, all reporting his position: "He is here! Here! Hurry, he is here!"

He leapt a log and tore through a thicket. Brambles caught at his legs and slashed his face. Before this night they would have opened a way for him and then confounded his pursuers. He burst through into a clearing and jolted to a stop. He bent over, gasping and sobbing air into his lungs.

He heard a loud snort—a blast of air through nostrils—and jerked upright. A stag stood before him, pawing the ground and lowering his antlers. He charged and Legolas was late in jumping to the side. One point of the huge rack caught his calf, opening another gash. The elf rolled over his shoulders, sprang to his feet, and leapt desperately for a tree limb over his head. His grace was gone and he scrambled up anyhow, hooking a foot over the branch and momentarily hanging before heaving himself up. The stag reared against the tree and raked his antlers back and forth against the trunk in fury.

Shaking with exertion and shock, Legolas rested his head against the bark. It chaffed his face and the leaves hissed, "Traitor!" "Death dealer!" The elf's mind reeled at what was happening to him. Every creature that lived in the forest was seeking his life. He had been bitten by rabbits! He had never heard of this nightmare happening before, not even in the wildest tales told to frighten elflings. He had a thousand questions and not one answer. His greatest concern was what was happening at the palace. Was he the only one so sought, or were all his people threatened as well?

The ground below swarmed with life as his pursuers caught up with him. A wolf joined the stag, jumping high to snap at a dangling foot. The two mortal foes ignored each other, their attention solely on the elf. Rats, badgers, rabbits and more circled the tree and covered the ground below Legolas. Snakes began to move up the trunk and squirrels ran chattering toward him through the branches.

The elf got to his feet. He had to move on. He ran along branches from one tree to another. He had done this from a child but never before had the branches pulled away from him or snapped beneath his feet. He had to shorten his leaps as he could not be sure of his landings. An especially loud CRACK! tumbled him back to the ground. He rolled on landing and staggered to his feet. Again he ran.

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After a few more hours the elf was finished. He could not take another step. He crashed into another clearing and drew his knives. He would not tamely submit to his fate. Nonetheless, he would be taken in moments for he could not put up any serious resistance in his current state. He bled from so many wounds that his clothing was as scarlet as a bard's at a festival. As the maddened army closed on him, barking and squealing, hissing and cawing, he thought of Aragorn. Would the man ever know where or how his friend had died? Would the beasts leave enough for his father to find and bury?

As they leapt upon him and he was borne to the ground, his last thought was "WHY?"

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A rider on a moon-white horse thundered through the forest. He bore a wooden staff and muttered to himself. He asked many questions of the night, over and over. How had "He" been awakened and how was he to be put back into the somnolent state in which he had passed the last age? And would he, Gandalf, be in time to save the fool Galadriel had warned would not live out the night without aid? A most important fool who was not intended to die in the woods of his home.

The wizard rode into the clearing that held the elf. His horse plowed through the outward edges of the multitude that seemed to have no other purpose than to try to add themselves to the heap in the middle of the open space. Gandalf dismounted and lay about him with his staff as he strode forward through the teeming throng. He beat off the topmost on the pile and chanted old words long forgotten by most. The creatures fell back before his rage and he finally caught a glimpse of their prey. He once again used his staff and all but a few stubborn stragglers backed away. A weasel had the elf by the throat and a thousand millipedes crawled over him, biting with miniscule mouths. The worst was the badger that had bitten completely through his boot and was shaking the leg like a terrier. Legolas' face was a hideous mask of cuts, bruises, and gore.

Gandalf dispelled the last of the attackers, although they formed a circle a few feet away, still snarling, growling, and whining with eagerness to return to their bloody work. He looked down at Legolas and the elf looked up at him with gratitude and relief.

"Mithandrir! Thank Elbereth you came!" The elf was certain that now he was safe.

"SAURON'S CODPIECE! WHAT THE BLEEDING BLUE BLAZES HAVE YOU DONE, BOY?"

Gandalf's accusation was the final straw of many, and the elf's eyes closed as he retreated from a terrifying world that had gone mad.

End Chapter 2


	3. The Offering

**Ch. 3 The Offering**

While Legolas lay unconscious the wizard tended his hurts. They were many, some serious, but Gandalf laid his hands upon him and the bleeding, both within and without, slowed and stopped. He paid particular attention to one eye that was crimson instead of blue. Fortunately, the damage was superficial for even Gandalf's powers had limits placed upon them.

When Mithrandir at last leaned back on his heels Legolas opened his eyes. To his dismay, he quickly remembered all that had happened. He looked fearfully at the wizard. Gandalf, who had reluctantly felt pity for the elf when he saw all that had been done to him, sighed. "Do not fear, Legolas. I will not shout at you again. How do you feel?"

The elf tried to sit up and Gandalf put an arm around his back. "Gently, now. You have had quite a time, Prince of Mirkwood. Here, lean against this tree…"

He was startled when Legolas struggled and pulled away. "No! I do not want to touch them—they will not speak with me; they _hate_ me!" His voice rose in spite of his attempts to control his fear. "What is happening!"

The wizard held his position, supporting the elf and speaking soothingly. "Calm yourself, forest child. You truly do not know what you have done?"

"I have done nothing. I have always guarded this forest with my bow and blood."

"Ah. Well, there it is, you see. Your blood. You have somehow called forth something that, by old bonds placed upon it, can only be called by one of your House. One in direct line to the throne. Only by you or your father, in fact. And I know Thranduil has been safely at home these last weeks, not raising something he knows nothing about and loosing it upon an already threatened woodland!"

"But I have done nothing! My people have little to do with magics, seeing all the harm they have done here. I know nothing of what you speak; never would I harm my home!"

Gandalf spoke a little sternly, "Have you, or have you not, ridden through the Forbidden Territory this very month? Do not deny it—Galadriel saw it and that is why I am here in time to save you."

Legolas flushed a little but met the wizard's eyes squarely. "Yes, I rode there. I know it is forbidden but I have done it in the past when in peril of my life. All the warriors do so, although not unless hard pressed. Nothing has happened—none of us has been attacked by our own forest before!"

"Something happened this time, Prince of Mirkwood! What incantation did you chant as you rode along? Did you tire of the songs of Aman and Elbereth? The ballads of your warriors?"

"Why do you accuse me so! I have done nothing! I chanted no chant! I spoke no spell!"

Gandalf drew a deep breath. It was a measure of the seriousness of the situation that he was having trouble keeping his temper. "This is getting us nowhere. Tell me exactly what you did, from the moment you entered until you left that accursed place."

Legolas began his story and had just explained that they had only stopped a short while to attend to Aragorn's wound, when the wizard grabbed his beard in both hands and shouted, "YOU SHED _HIS_ BLOOD THERE!"

"No! At least, I had to cut the stitches and clean out the wound but I did it with all good intent! I was not sacrificing him, by the stars of Elbereth!"

The wizard stared into space with a grim frown and then spoke quietly. "There is a lesser maiar there, one who chose to follow Morgoth, like Sauron, except his bent was toward growing things. He gradually grew more and more plantlike himself, and he warped and twisted the vines of the Greenwood into dark beings that could not be allowed to flourish. With great effort and sacrifice some of us of the Light, by deep spelling, contained him within the vines he had created to destroy the Greenwood. Though we could not contain him completely. Terms were set, of which you now know one: that only your House would be able to wake him from his slumber. We felt that was a safe condition and we had to yield something or lose all. And now you have spilled the rarest blood in all Arda upon him. You, a prince of the royal line, held up a knife and shed the blood of Numenor in that place. Mirkwood is now in so much danger that if the Nazgul hear of it they will come to _help_ us in order to preserve Dol Guldur!"

Legolas got to his feet, demanding, "What is happening? What is happening in the territory of the vine?"

"It takes over ground as fast as a walking man. Trees are dying by the hundreds and even slow or foolish animals are now being taken. It has found it has a taste for flesh."

The elf was stunned. He gasped, "No wonder they hate me! They called me 'death dealer' and so I am!" He turned and grasped Gandalf's sleeve desperately. "What must we do, what must _I_ do, to stop this horror?"

"Blood called the vine from slumber; blood must send it back. _You_ must send it back." The wizard hesitated before he uttered the words that would destroy the elf. "I have sent for Aragorn."

Legolas became still as death. "What do you mean?" he whispered.

"The Royal House of Mirkwood and the Chieftain of the Dunedain must return to slumber what they have awoken. I am sorry, Legolas. You cannot know how sorry." He stopped again, unable to speak the last, damning words. He drew a breath and forced himself to finish it. "It takes more blood to seal than to summon. Much more…."

The elf railed and argued, demanded and pleaded. Surely there was another solution! There were many maiar, why would they not come and do what they had done so long ago? If the Nazgul would help, let them! Feeling great pity for the elf, Gandalf patiently explained again and again, hour after hour, that the Powers did not work that way. The spell must be undone and there was only one way to do it.

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It was a sober trio that rode through the vines toward the place where the elf and ranger had stopped in their journey. Legolas and Aragorn rode side by side; Gandalf rode just before them. In order to return to the place the troubles had begun, they had had to traverse the growing borders of the vine. Seeing it in action the elf had nearly fainted as he felt the howling rage and mourning of his beloved forest. As if that were not bad enough, his friend had ridden toward him already knowing why he was summoned. There was no accusation in his eyes as he greeted his brother-through-love and that, too, was beyond the elf's ability to bear.

As they traversed the vines Gandalf chanted and fixed his attention on the head of his staff. He held it out like a lance, and from its head there spread a circle of quiescence large enough to ensure the safety of the horses.

The two friends did not speak. From time to time the man would reach over and try to lay his hand on the shoulder of the elf, who would pull away. Legolas rode as if encased in ice. He felt nothing; he thought nothing. Deep, deep inside him someone struggled and sobbed and screamed, but the captive could not escape the frigid cage that contained him. He affected the elf not at all.

Where Legolas rode in a chill like that of the Helcaraxe, Aragorn burned. He felt as though he could not breathe and tugged repeatedly at the brooch that fastened his cloak. Instead of no thoughts he had too many; most of them pictures that flashed and changed like the most erratic of nightmares. He saw Elrond leaning on his balcony railing, despairing and angry. He saw the faces of men—hard-bitten veterans all—who had given him their respect. He saw elves that were fleeing for the Havens left lying where they fell as Orcs overran the countryside. He saw an Orc wearing a long golden trophy at his belt. Knotted into one tress was a gold ring in the shape of a flower. And again and again he saw one particular elf lying on a bier while a king wept and begged his son to stay in Middle Earth.

They came to their destination and all three dismounted. All around them the vine seethed and sent out tendrils to take them and their horses but Gandalf swept his staff around them in a large circle and within its boundaries the vines lay still. The wizard looked from one friend to the other and said, "Are you ready?"

The man nodded but the elf stared straight ahead. Gandalf motioned with his hand. "Face each other and kneel."

Slowly they did so. Aragorn could not leave his friend without speaking a farewell. "Gwador nin-"

The ice shattered. "No, Aragorn! Please, do not! I will follow you soon, for I cannot bear the burden of the damage I have caused nor the fact that I will –" He broke off, then continued in a whisper, "Please, say nothing more or I will not be able to – _Please_, _Estel_, say nothing." Desperately Legolas tried to return to the cold.

Aragorn nodded sadly and looked to Gandalf. "What now?"

Gandalf took a dagger, very plain and ordinary and not at all what they expected, from one sleeve pocket and presented it on his palms to the two friends. "Both wrists are to be cut deeply, with a minute between the two. I will have to chant and must be finished with the first phrases before the second cut is made."

Once again frozen, Legolas reached for the knife. How had he gone in so short a time from a warrior of Mirkwood, loved by many and respected by all, to a fratricide? The world was upside down and he cared not one wit whether it would continue after his fading.

Before the elf's fingers could touch the knife, Gandalf stopped him. "No, Legolas." He held the dagger toward Aragorn, whose head whipped around to face the wizard.

"What do you mean by this! It was my blood that called the monster from his sleep; it is mine that must –"

"Aye, it was your blood, by Legolas' hand. But the spell must be unwound. The rite must be widdershins. It is the blood of Legolas that must now fall upon the vine. And it is you who must hold the knife."

The elf's heart leapt within him, the ice melted in a rush of joy. His brother would not die! He thrust his wrists at Aragorn who recoiled as if bitten.

"NO! I will not!" Aragorn grabbed the dagger and threw it from the three. Legolas scrambled after it and then returned to his place. He tried to force the knife into the man's hands.

"You must! You will! You will not let me destroy my home and who knows how much more beside!"

Gandalf was exasperated (an inappropriate emotion for the time, place, and occasion). Each of the fools was more than willing to die himself if it would spare the life of the other. A rather odd stand-off, even in the wizard's wide experience. He watched the two struggle and argue over the blade.

Suddenly, something caught his attention. Two sun-browned hands struggled with two of paler hue. Man and Elf. First and Second Born. Prince and King. Evenly matched in strength, courage, and love. Each willing to sacrifice himself for the other. For Gandalf, time stood still as into his mind flashed another possibility. He thought feverishly of the terms set so long ago. He raised his head and was amazed to see Earendil had appeared to sail the heavens. He was not aware so much time had passed. The star flashed, telling him he had the right of it. There was another way.

Gandalf ruthlessly knocked the hands apart with his staff and stepped between the man and the elf. He bent all the power of his personality on Aragorn. His hair stood up forming an aureole around his head and his eyes flashed. Occasionally it was necessary to remind people he was _not_ an old man!

"Take his wrist and do what I have brought you here to do! I cannot maintain control over the vine forever! The spell must be ended NOW!"

Aragorn's own eyes flashed as he determined within to withstand even the maiar in defense of his friend. Before he could say something extremely unwise, Gandalf spoke again.

"Take care when you cut him. Mirkwood cannot afford to lose her finest bow. And you, Legolas, beware of harming his sword hand."

The two stared at him, afraid to hope, but surely it would not matter what damage was done to a corpse?

The wizard smiled. "Yes, I have thought of another way. The blood of both, joined in truth as your hearts have been long joined in friendship. The blood of the House and of Numenor, together, is stronger than either alone. Do it now. Spill the finest blood in Arda upon this cursed place. Carefully."

Aragorn let go of the hilt of the blade he held and Legolas took it. The man pulled his own belt knife and they clasped hands between them, at the level of their hearts. They turned as one and looked at Gandalf.

"Good. Hold that position and your blood will mix before it hits the ground. Aragorn, you first, as that is still the order that will be best."

Aragorn looked at his friend and smiled. "Fast or slow?"

Gandalf, not getting the joke, broke in, "Slow! I told you, you must be careful! The tendons are very close to where you must cut!" He grabbed the man's wrist and held the inside up to view. "See, here and here, you must cut down to the arteries within. The blood must come from close to the heart."

The two re-clasped their hands and Legolas laughed merrily. "Slow then."

The dagger's point pierced the pale skin and the elf hissed a little but made no other sign. Aragorn dug about a bit until arterial blood, bright and shining, began to stream from the wound.

Aragorn intoned, "Thus I shed the blood of the Prince of Mirkwood, ruler-to-be of this realm and true son of Thranduil Oropherion. May it bind this evil for all time."

"Quickly now, Legolas, your blood must be mixed. Quickly!" The wizard began to chant, his speech sounding a little like Quenya, commanding and intense.

The elf pressed his blade carefully into Aragorn's wrist, probing deeply, and the man made no sound, though his fingers tightened bruisingly. His blood fell, glowing in the evening sun, to meet that of his brother-through-love.

"Thus I shed the blood of the Chieftain of the Dunedain, of all that remains of the blood of the Kings of Numenor. May it bind this evil for all time."

The vines began to thrash as though a gale blew through them.

Gandalf's voice rose above the loud rustling and snapping while the blood of the two friends continued to flow. The wizard chanted on and on and the blood pooled beneath the clasped hands before sinking into the ground. Still Gandalf chanted and still the blood flowed. Legolas, not fully recovered from his wild race through the wood, was the first to show the effects of blood loss. He began to sway a little and Aragorn turned his face to the wizard. "Hurry! He has lost too much!" He dropped the blade he still held and closed his hand around the elf's forearm, trying to slow the bleeding. But after only another minute, he too began to feel woozy and disoriented. He focused his blurring vision on the elf before him. Were they going to perish after all? Both of them?

Mithrandir finally stopped chanting and placed both his hands around the bleeding wrists. In a few minutes the flow had stopped and he gently pulled the hands apart. All three looked around at the vines as the rustling quieted and after a time, stopped altogether. The man and elf sat on the ground, waiting for the world to stop tilting and slowly spinning.

Gandalf removed his satchel from over his shoulder and took out bandages and ointment. The cuts, though deep, were short, and already closing due to the wizard's attentions. After bandaging them he cleaned the hands of both friends and finally his own. He returned to his bag and rummaged around in it. He finally found what he was looking for and pulled out a large pastry wrapped in linen and squashed from traveling. "There! Just what you need—something sweet!" He broke the confection into two pieces and presented the larger one to Aragorn and Legolas, while he began to munch happily on the other.

Legolas turned his head away in revulsion but the ranger hissed at him, "Just eat it! He will not leave us alone until we do." He took their piece and broke it in half. He bit into his portion. It was quite tasty and he grinned at the elf and nodded encouragingly. With a sigh, the elf accepted his piece and took a very small bite. Surprised, he looked at Aragorn. It _was_ good! His queasy stomach accepted it without complaint. Both man and elf began to feel much better as they finished their pastry and they looked at Gadalf questioningly. Surely there were more—and odder—ingredients in this cake than was usual for such things. The maiar just smiled and licked his fingertips.

Legolas wanted reassurance about the welfare of his forest. "Is the monster gone? Have you worked the spell successfully?"

Mithrandir frowned. "Not gone, no. But he sleeps again and that is the best we can do at this time. We have a few other things to worry about as you know well, Prince of Greenwood That Was. Now, perhaps, when you return home you will be more forceful in reminding your warriors not to traverse this place?"

Legolas answered fervently, "That I will!"

The thought of "home" had Aragorn looking pensive. "Mithrandir," he began, "I have been thinking. You know that Elrond has had many, _many_ burdensome things on his mind these last years."

Cautiously, the wizard agreed. "Yes. Yes, I think we could all agree with that statement. What is your point?"

"Well, no one knows about all this other than the three of us, correct? Why should it go farther?"

"What about Galadriel?"

"Oh." Aragorn was crestfallen. "She tells Ada everything. There is no hope in keeping my part in this quiet. I reckon I had better spend a few more years with the rangers before I go home."

Legolas snorted. "Huh! You think you have troubles ahead of you! My father has only the most nodding acquaintance with words like 'compassion,' 'mercy,' and 'understanding.' And his son almost let a giant, rampaging vine _eat_ Mirkwood! Through open disobedience to a royal decree, no less. Of course, it was decreed a very long time ago, but that will not help me at all!"

The friends received help from an unexpected quarter. Gandalf had suddenly had a vision of himself standing between two irate fathers as both thundered, "You almost did WHAT to my SON!" He quickly thought of a plan.

"Do not despair. Unlike so many of your misadventures, this one was totally inadvertent." Aragorn started to protest that _all_ their misadventures were inadvertent, but Legolas elbowed him in the ribs. Now was no time to argue with a wizard who might know a way to avoid parental unpleasantness.

"I will speak with Galadriel. She owes me a favor or two. I think we can arrange that your fathers do not know the entire story."

Legolas, the one in greater peril, was very grateful and said so. Aragorn, however, was intrigued with another aspect of the wizard's statement.

"She owes you favors? _Galadriel_ owes you favors?" A picture of the rather austere Lady of the Wood appeared in his mind. "However did _that_ come about?"

"Well, my boy, let us get hence out of this place and find somewhere to build a nice little fire, with perhaps a brace of coneys?" He looked at the elf and Legolas nodded agreeably. "Then, when we are all fed and comfortable, maybe I will tell you a little about the kinds of trouble a young Noldo can get herself into." He chuckled as they walked to their horses. "Yes, those were interesting times indeed…."

END


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